


Wildflower

by LeChatRouge673



Series: Wildflower [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-10-10 02:21:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10427019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeChatRouge673/pseuds/LeChatRouge673





	1. Chapter 1

Nathaniel had never been much of a religious man. He said the chant and observed the high holy days like any good Andrastian, but his preferred place of worship had always been the training grounds. In the pale grey light of dawn, bow in hand and a quiver full of arrows at his back, each perfectly aimed shot was a prayer of its own. When he had heard of his father’s death and, later, the horrific story of the elder Howe’s war crimes, Nathaniel had begun to wonder if there even _was_ a Maker. Now, however, he was not only certain that the Maker existed, but that he must have a sense of humor.

Because Nathaniel Howe had fallen in love with a Cousland.

Not just any Cousland, either. _The_ Cousland. The hero of Ferelden, friend to dwarven folk and elfkind, slayer of the archdemon. Lady Cataline Alexandria Cousland. The woman who, along with her ragtag band of companions, had defeated the blight a scant year after it had begun in earnest, and who was now tasked with facing down one of the most vile and utterly terrifying darkspawn to ever crawl forth from whatever pit they were bred in. The woman who, less than a year earlier, had killed his father. He’d asked her, that day in the dungeons when she had invoked the ancient warden right of conscription, if she liked having grey wardens that wanted her dead. To his surprise, she’d laughed, and even then he’d been struck by the music of it.

“Some of my best friends have wanted me dead.”

 

* * *

 

 

By rights, he should have hated her. Maker, he _had_ hated her, without having even met her. Even before she had struck down Rendon Howe, he had resented her existence by virtue of the fact that it was always assumed that she would be married off to his younger brother, Thomas. The match would have cemented the bond between the Cousland and Howe families, and would have almost certainly guaranteed that it would be Thomas that would inherit his father’s estate rather than him, as should have been his birthright as the eldest son. Nathaniel really hadn’t given a damn about the title or the lands or even about the proposed marriage; in fact he had become rather enamored with the idea of being a traveling knight, free from the constraints of nobility. Rather, it was the utter indifference his father had shown him that had chafed so egregiously, especially after Nathaniel had tried so desperately hard to make his father proud. Thomas’s presumed betrothal was just salt in the wound; yet another slight. Especially given that, dowry aside, Cataline was considered an extremely desirable match for any young nobleman.

Now, having spent the past several months with her, he had to admit that he could see why. Cat was intelligent and well-spoken, compassionate almost to a fault, with a quietly wicked sense of humor that struck when he least expected it to. She had hair the color of a fiery sunrise, but her eyes were a gentle violet, shimmering like summer twilight. Cat had the lithe form and grace of a dancer, but he knew it was blades that had drawn her study rather than ballrooms. And woe upon the unfortunate soul that invoked her ire, for Nathaniel had never seen a candle flame turn to a wildfire as fast as Cataline Cousland did when she attacked.

Thomas could _never_ have appreciated her for the beautiful force of nature that she was.

He’d asked her about it, once. They had been camped in the Wending Woods shortly after he had joined the wardens, and he and Cat had drawn the first watch. Sitting amidst the towering trees and gazing up at familiar constellations, Nathaniel had wondered aloud if things would have turned out differently if she had married Thomas after all. The warden commander had nearly choked on the water she had been sipping.

“Thomas was… young…” she had said tactfully, once she had recovered. “I met him only once, very briefly. He seemed rather unlike your father. I wonder if the poor boy ever realized that _my_ father would never push me into a marriage to which I did not agree, and I most certainly did _not_ agree to marry Thomas.”

“It would have been a strategic choice,” Nathaniel had argued, not entirely certain why he was pressing the issue, “and a powerful alliance. Uniting the Howe and Cousland families through marriage would have consolidated two of the most influential power blocks in Ferelden, outside of the crown itself, and perhaps Gwaren.”

Delicate shoulders shrugged. “To be honest,” she’d looked up at the stars, “my family was a bit insulted, though of course Da would never have told your father that. To be offered the younger son… Thomas may have been a perfectly lovely young man, but if anyone was really concerned about dynasties and political prowess, _you_ would have been put forth instead. Perhaps they though that _I_ was too young for you, although a couple of years rarely seems to stop determined matchmakers. Still, we found it odd that you were never brought along on your father’s visits.”

He’d been grateful for the night’s darkness, for he was not convinced that color hadn’t risen into his cheeks. “By that time, I was probably already in the Free Marches, squiring under Ser Rodolphe. I was never considered my father’s heir,” had been his terse reply. She had let the matter drop, but even after Anders and Sigrun had relieved them for the night, he had lain awake… and wondered.

 

* * *

 

 

He had been at her side nearly every day since then. From her perspective, it was almost certainly a matter of practicality: he had not been exaggerating when he’d told her he had some skill as a scout, and he would wager he was a better archer than anyone else at the keep. Nathaniel was useful, nothing more, and he had to admit that it was nice to finally be considered an asset rather than an inconvenience. At least, that’s what he tried to tell himself while ignoring the snickers and sideways glances from her other companions when he was the first to volunteer to join her in the field. Besides, if he was going to be a grey warden, didn’t it behoove him to learn from the best there was?

It happened so gradually, he hadn’t even realized that his behavior had changed significantly since he had joined the wardens. Instead of spending his evenings alone with his books, he spent them around the campfire with the others when they were in the field, or with the other residents of the keep when they returned to the Vigil, listening to their stories and occasionally sharing one of his own. There were times when he even remembered how to make a joke, an impulse that had almost been quashed during his time as Rodolphe’s squire.

Cataline had even persuaded him to teach her some archery, and proved to be a fast learner. He almost suspected that she had understated her skills when she had asked for his help after he watched her easily hit the first dozen targets he set up for her, but she had insisted it was just beginner’s luck.

“Here,” he tried to show her how to adjust her draw, “your aim is true, but you’ll do more damage if you can adjust your arms a bit, see?”

She tried to mimic his stance, but was not quite matching it. Tentatively, he stepped towards her.

“May I, my lady?”

She nodded, and he moved in close behind her. Her form was remarkably relaxed, or maybe it was simply that his had tensed up at being so close to her. He took her arms in his hands, his head leaning down to give her quiet instructions, tiny adjustments that came as the result of years of study and practice. His cheek brushed briefly against hers before he drew back, the touch jolting him like a shock of lightning. As he stepped away, Cat loosed the arrow.

And it went somewhere over the target into a mound of dirt beyond.

He raised an eyebrow in her direction and was surprised to see she was blushing a brilliant shade of pink. “I’ll um… I’ll just go fetch that then. Sorry.” She strode off in search of the practice arrow, and Nathaniel realized how much he appreciated the fact that she favored the cotton blouses and fitted calfskin breeches she usually wore around the keep rather than the flowing, impractical skirts so many of the noblewomen wore. The latter would have drowned Cataline’s hips, and that would have been a tragedy.

“Beginner’s luck, my ass,” he muttered, but he couldn’t help but feel a warmth inside his heart that had nothing to do with the rising afternoon sun.

The next morning, when all but the Vigil’s kitchen servants were still asleep in bed, he slipped out of the keep and into the hills. It was still too early in the season for the keep’s rose gardens to be in full bloom, but the meadows and forests surrounding them held a tapestry of hearty wildflowers. He collected as many as he could carry, then snuck back into the Vigil, keeping to the shadows and praying no one else saw him. If Anders or Oghren caught him, he would never hear the end of it. But then again, she was absolutely worth it. The flowers of the mountain reminded him so much of her: something so beautiful, so deceptively delicate, yet fierce enough to withstand the coldness of the world.

He paused outside the door to Cataline’s room, only a few doors down the hall from his own. Nathaniel had moved back into his childhood room, although Cat had offered him the master bedroom. She said it should have been his by right anyways, but he couldn’t bring himself to sleep in the room where his parents had been so desperately unhappy, and where his father had plotted Maker only knew what. The room remained empty still, Cataline choosing Delilah’s old bedroom.

Nathaniel reached up a hand to knock, but couldn’t quite bring himself to do it. _This is idiotic_. With a quiet sigh, he left the flowers outside her door and slipped away back down the stairs.

He was in the dining hall, sipping a mug of hot coffee and half listening to yet another bout of insults between Anders and Oghren, when Cataline came downstairs, her hair woven into braids that crowned her head and studded with some of the flowers he had left outside the door. She sat beside him and poured herself a cup of tea.

“Good morning,” she smiled.

“Good morning, my lady,” he nodded. “Your… your hair looks nice, this morning. I mean, not to say that it does not always look nice, but…”

“Thank you,” she laughed, cutting short his fumbling. “Someone left me the most beautiful bouquet of wildflowers outside my door this morning. They reminded me of the flowers I used to pick when I was little girl, running around wild in Highever.” Her eyes met his. “I only wish I knew who left them so that I could thank them properly. It was a lovely gesture, and it made me very happy.”

Nathaniel could have sworn the whole dining hall must have heard his heart beating against his chest. “Whoever it was,” he spoke carefully, “I am sure that it is enough just to see you happy. Your joy is certainly thanks enough, my lady.”

“You know, Nathaniel, you could just call me Cataline, or Cat.”

“You’re right, I could. My lady.”

Her smile broadened, and to his great surprise, Nathaniel found himself smiling back. He honestly could not remember the last time he had actually smiled because he was happy.

They had spent more time together, after that. They often stayed up late into the night, talking. He told her stories about his time in the Free Marches, and she about her adventures during the blight. It was during these tales that he thought he detected a hint of wistfulness in her tone. Eventually he recognized it for what it was.

Loneliness.

 

* * *

 

 

“Why didn’t you go with them?” He asked quietly one night as they sat in the great hall of Vigil’s Keep, he oiling his bow and Cat carefully sharpening her daggers.

“Oh, this and that,” she shrugged with a tiny smile. “Everyone else seemed to have a purpose, you know? I know Loghain would have come with me, had I asked, and Thea with him, but I think he still needs time to figure out who he wants to be now. Leliana was asked to return to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Before I ran into her in Amaranthine I thought Wynne was on her way to Tevinter with Shale; Sten returned to Par Vollen; and I made a promise to Morrigan to let her go on her way after the battle with the Archdemon. Zevran has been around here and there, but I think he’s still evading the crows. It seems I just can’t shake Oghren, though,” she grinned, and he chuckled softly.

“Meanwhile, I… I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do. My entire life up until- until I joined the wardens, it was more or less planned out. I would either stay on to manage the estate for Fergus and Oriana, or I would end up married off, if I could ever find someone that suited me.”

“And you never did?” He asked cautiously, almost afraid to know the answer.

She hesitated, her eyes dropping to focus on her blades. “Not at the time, no.” A lock of ginger hair fell over her eyes, and he resisted the urge to brush it away from her face. “In any case,” she continued, “that all changed. Suddenly, I was not only a grey warden, I was one of only two left in all of Ferelden, and responsible for raising a damn army and killing an old god. So, you know, no pressure.” She met his eyes again with a small grin.

“Yet somehow, you seemed to manage,” Nathaniel set his bow aside, “thrived, even.”

“I had _a lot_ of help. We may have seemed like an… eclectic… group, but I would trust every one of those ruffians with my life. Even now, I’ve found good people to fight at my side. All in all,” she set aside her blades and stood, stretching and briefly exposing a band of pale skin at her waist, “it hasn’t been so bad. I’ve made new friends. Even though some of them want me dead.” She threw him a wink and moved to the smaller door beside the grand main entrance, slipping outside into the warm early summer night. She looked over her shoulder and, with a toss of her head, gestured for him to follow. Cataline lead him up the stone steps to a lonely spot on the battlements that overlooked the valley out towards the Amaranthine Sea. They leaned against the granite, neither saying anything for a few moments until he finally found the courage to speak.

“For whatever it’s worth,” he stumbled over the words, “I’m sorry I said that. I’m sorry for a lot of things, actually. I’m sorry about your family. I’m sorry about Duncan, and the rest of the Fereldan wardens. I’m sorry that you had to fight your way out of Fort Drakon. If I’d known… if I’d realized what kind of man my father had become, or what kind of person _you_ were…”

She took a step closer to him. “Then you may have never felt the need for revenge on your father’s behalf,” she took another step, “and you would have never ended up in that cell,” another step, “and I would never have had to conscript you, and we would never have met,” she finished, her gentle hand reaching up and tilting his chin so that he was facing her. He couldn’t quite read the expression in her eyes, but it whatever it was, it was tying his stomach in knots.

“And that would have been unacceptable.”

 _What am I doing?_ Nathaniel leaned closer to her, his hands coming to rest on her waist even as hers twined around his neck. Before he could allow his mind to catch up, his lips met hers, and the rest of the world faded away. Cat arched onto her tiptoes, her hand tangling in his hair as she deepened their kiss. Her mouth tasted like honey, and the subtle scent of her hair evoked memories of the keep’s rose garden in the spring. He pulled her closer, pressing himself as near to her as their clothing would allow, trying to commit every curve of her body to memory.

And then, all too quickly, it was over. He pulled away from her, gently, and reality came crashing back over him like a wave on the shore. _She will never want someone like me_. By the void, his father had murdered her family. She was a hero, a bloody icon, and he was, at best, the forgotten son of a disgraced arl. Cataline was the sunrise, bright and hopeful, and he was the shadow that fled before the brilliance of her light. Despite this knowledge, he had finally come to the painful realization that had been lurking in the back of his mind. _I love her_. Trying to block out the look of pained confusion in her eyes, he turned away.

  
“I’m sorry.”


	2. Chapter 2

She’d never pressed him for an explanation. Of course she hadn’t: Cataline was far too kind and far too well-mannered to put him in an awkward position, even though he could see a flash of hurt in her eyes every time she caught him looking at her, which was more often that he probably should have been. He found more excuses to stay at the keep when she went into the field, instead sending Velanna or Oghren along to watch her back. This proved to be even more anxiety-inducing than being in her presence, however, as when he was not there to personally witness her safety, he was in a constant state of worry. Needless worry, perhaps, but worry nonetheless.

One day, when she had been off on a salvage recovery mission, he had noticed an unfamiliar elf engaged in lively banter with Oghren. The two seemed to be trading barbs, but since they also seemed to be good-natured enough his interest was more curiosity than concern. As he approached the elf turned towards him, and he recognized Cataline’s former crow companion, Zevran Arainai.

“Ah, see, now I feel more at home! It is good to know I am not the only one who has made the mistake of trying to kill our dear warden. Trust me, my friend, I know the feeling. Although, in my defense, I was at least going to get paid for my troubles.”

Nathaniel frowned. “I never intended to _actually_ kill anyone if I didn’t have to. I only meant to retrieve some of my family’s heirlooms.”

Zevran threw his head back and laughed. “I liked the other version better. It made me feel less guilty. How is lovely Cataline these days? I had hoped to see her before I had to move on.”

For some reason, Nathaniel felt jealousy pool in the pit of his stomach, and his tone was cool when he finally replied. “She is well, I believe. I am not certain when she will return, however. If your business elsewhere is pressing, you may not wish to wait.”

“Ahhh, I see,” Zevran’s smile was uncomfortably knowing, “I know that look, and I suspect you have been waiting for her much longer than I. I assure you, I will not take too much of her attention. But unless I am much mistaken, the beautiful warden commander has just walked through the front doors.”

Nathaniel spun around in the direction Zevran was pointing. Sure enough, there was Cataline, accepting a glass of wine and a large stack of documents from Varel and looking as though she wanted nothing more than a long nap and maybe more wine than would possibly fit in the glass she had been given. And he, in turn, wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms again and shelter her, at least for a while, from the demands the world placed on her constantly. Nathaniel missed her, desperately, when she was gone.

“Yes, I know _that_ look as well,” the erstwhile assassin noted quietly beside him. “She is an easy woman to love, no? If I had been a bit more inclined to settle down, maybe…ah, well. Listen, my friend,” he looked up and met Nathaniel’s eyes square on. “Life is short. For some, it is shorter than others, no? You care for her, obviously, and even a blind nug could see that she cares for you.”

“How could you possibly…”

“Because,” Zevran interrupted with a chuckle, “since she walked in the door, she has looked over her no less than a dozen times, and I guarantee that, handsome and dashing as I am, it is not me who has drawn her attention. Think about it.” He patted Nathaniel on the arm, then swaggered off to greet his old friend.

 

* * *

 

 

Sleep was eluding him. Nathaniel had been tossing and turning for hours, his mind a tangle of Zevran’s words, memories of the kiss that he and Cat had stolen on the rampart, and a thousand questions about what he should do about any of it. He sat up with a sigh and lit the candle beside his bed and reached for his book, hoping that perhaps he could distract his mind long enough to succumb to exhaustion. Barely a page had been turned before there was a quiet knock at his door. Frowning, he set aside the book and sat up.

“Come in?”

Cataline slipped in like a shadow, her slipper-clad tread silent as she shut the door behind her. She turned to face him, her all-too thin summer nightgown clinging to every curve of her body and making it excruciatingly difficult to focus his thoughts. Her eyes met his, as calm and serene as they always were, but with a glint of something… _more_.

“Funny story,” she said, keeping her tone conversational. “I had a chat with my old friend, Zevran, this afternoon. He had some very interesting observations to make, including a few about you.”

“Oh?” He looked about for his shirt, finally spotting it across the room in a pile with his other dirty laundry that he hadn’t yet bothered to tend to. He stood up to fetch it.

“Sit.”

Nathaniel obeyed, returning to his perch on the edge of his bed, facing her. Andraste’s blood, she was beautiful. Her long hair had been unwoven from the braids she pinned up while traveling or fighting and now hung in long tendrils down her back, and shadows from the candle danced over her skin and caught every expressive shift of her lips and every sparkle in her eyes. She settled down beside him, kicking off her slippers and tucking her feet up beside her.

“He said we should talk,” she continued, gently brushing a strand of his hair back behind his ear.

“And what, pray tell, did he say we should talk about?” His heart felt like it was beating out of his chest, and he caught her slender hand in his own as it traced a path down his cheek.

“Take a guess,” she whispered.

He breathed a long sigh. “Cataline, I will never be worthy of you,” he reached his free hand out to wrap around her waist and draw her closer. “and I fear I will never be free of my father’s legacy, or his sins against your family.”

“ _You are not your father_ ,” she replied firmly, “and you do not know your own worth. Would I be here if I did not think you were worth my time? Do you think my judgement so poor?”

All he could do was shake his head as he leaned his head towards hers. “No,” he murmured, “no, I do not. I love you, Cataline Cousland.”

“And I love you, Nathaniel Howe.”

His lips brushed against hers, tentatively at first, but then with more purpose and need. Her nails raked against the bare skin of his back as her tongue met his and they tumbled back against the bed. He fought to keep the same practiced restraint he used on the battlefield, desperate not to do anything that would make her change her mind. Andraste’s blood, how long had it even been since he’d had a woman in his bed? He couldn’t remember, didn’t _want_ to remember, because he knew that from this moment on he would only ever want her.

Cat’s lips moved to his cheek, then traced a trail along his jaw and down his neck and along his collarbone, the fall of her hair brushing across his skin and sending a shiver through his entire body. She looked up at him, violet eyes glittering beneath lowered lashes, and she smiled. He smiled back, stroking her cheek and simply reveling in the softness of her skin beneath his own calloused fingers, made rough by thousands of hours with the bow, the one thing that had ever really brought him joy before he had met her. With careful motions, he slipped the thin sleeves of her nightgown over her shoulders, running his hands over her back as she pushed the garment the rest of the way off and tossed it to the floor.

For a moment, Nathaniel simply held her there, his eyes closed, soaking up the sensation of her utterly bare body against his. It was not until he felt her tugging at the simple cotton trousers he wore to bed that he finally loosened his embrace and allowed her to send them to the ground as well. Only then did she fall back into his arms, her lips crashing into his with a desperation he realized he also felt keenly.

“You know,” he whispered against her ear as he rolled her onto her back and pinned her arms over her head, “this is probably a really awful idea.”

“No, taunting that high dragon with a giant gong at the Temple of Sacred Ashes was a bad idea,” she gasped as he took one of her nipples gently between his teeth, scraping the tender flesh ever so slightly before running his tongue over it. “This,” Cataline sighed, “is perfect.”

He moved his attentions to her other breast, responding to every tiny moan, every unconscious arch of her back as he focused himself completely on this moment. Releasing her wrists, he ran his hands down her sides, past the dip of her waist and the curve of her hips, wanting to commit every detail of her body to memory in case she came to her senses and this was the only chance he had. Cat seemed equally intent with her own touches, tracing the constellations of scars long since healed, as well as some one that were new since he had joined the wardens. Her fingers danced lightly over the lines of his muscles, brushing briefly down his abdomen and then stopping short, leaving him aching for more.

“Lay back,” she murmured, shifting to his side, “I want to try something.”

Nathaniel obeyed, stroking her hair as she let her hand drift down until her fingers skimmed over the length of his cock. Cataline kissed the planes of his chest, and he could feel her smile when her hand wrapped around his length and he inhaled sharply, the sudden sensation of pleasure almost too much. Her strokes were uncertain at first, but she had always been good with her hands. It was not so very different for her to perform the subtle flicks of her wrist and adjustments in pressure on him that worked so well on her blades. His hand tangled in her hair, a groan escaping his lips when she flicked her thumb over the tip. He could feel her breasts brush against his skin with each breath she took, and it took every ounce of willpower he had to gently take her hand in his, brushing a kiss over her knuckles when she frowned in confusion.

“That cannot possibly have been the first time you’ve done that,” he chuckled, pressing her back against the bed and sucking gently at the spot where her neck met her shoulder. It occurred to him too late that it would probably leave a mark, but he had a feeling she wouldn’t mind.

“Yes, well,” a flush rose into her cheeks in the candlelight, making her, if possible, even more beautiful. “Zev did have some suggestions.”

“Then please remind me to thank him profusely the next time I see him.” His lips drifted along her collarbone, pausing to brush faint kisses against her breasts before returning to her cheek. “In the meantime, may I?”

She nodded, her long lashes lowered over her eyes and her body trembling slightly under his touch. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“You’ll tell me if I hurt you?”

“Of course,” she smiled sweetly, and his heart nearly broke at the trust held in the simple gesture. He cupped one of her breasts in his hand, massaging it softly and brushing his thumb over the stiffened peak, then moved his hand down until it met the juncture of her thighs. His fingers traced lightly over her entrance, wet and inviting, but he resisted the impulse to simply take her then. He wanted to do this for her first. There would be time. Instead, his thumb moved to her clit and began to rub a slow, precise pattern. Cataline whimpered under his touch, her back arching as he increased the speed and pressure of his touch, his every sense focused on her reactions. Nathaniel bent down to kiss her, and she met his lips enthusiastically, her tongue tangling with his and her moans vibrating against his mouth until she fell back against the pillow with a cry.

He pulled her close, waiting for the tremors to subside as she came down from her high, her shallow breaths evening out until she could manage to speak. “Maker’s breath, Nathaniel…that… that was…” she placed her hands on his cheeks and pulled him into a kiss. “I love you.”

He laughed softly. “I will never get tired of hearing that, my love.”

“That’s good,” she sighed in contentment, “because I will never tire of saying it.”

He ran his hand slowly down her side, coming to rest on her hip and meeting her eyes. “Cat? Is this… are you certain?”

Cataline ran her fingers through his hair, brushing them down the back of his neck before coming to rest on his back, and when she spoke, he heard no trace of doubt in her voice.

“I am certain, Nathaniel. I want this. I want _you_.”

Her assurances were all he needed. In a single graceful motion, he propped himself over her, his body nestled against her own as he slowly, carefully entered her, listening for even the slightest sound of pain or discomfort, but instead heard only a satisfied hum. With precise, deliberate motions, Nathaniel rocked his body against hers, his mind a haze of awe at the woman beneath him and the sheer physical pleasure that washed over him with every thrust of his hips. One of his hands cradled the back of her head, his fingers tangled in her fiery locks, while her arms were flung around his shoulders, the arcs of her own body meeting his in perfect rhythm.

He drank in every whimper, every moan, every shiver that wracked her body. When he felt his own release nearing, his hand moved from her head back to her clit, this time finding the perfect spot more quickly after his earlier practice. Just as he felt her cresting her own peak, he finally let himself go, his climax sending sparks in front of his eyes and leaving him gasping for breath. Nathaniel collapsed beside Cataline, pulling her close and pressing kisses everywhere his lips could reach. When he thought he could finally trust his legs to hold him up, he stood and retrieved the blankets from where they had been kicked carelessly to the floor, pulling them up over their bodies as she nestled her head against his chest, a small smile still playing across her lips.

Despite the peace of the moment, Nathaniel’s mind strayed to a dozen different worries. He loved her, and he believed her when she said she loved him too, but there was still the issue of his family being utter pariahs in Ferelden. He was past the point of caring about his own name being dragged through the mud, but he didn’t want Cat being dragged down with him. She deserved better than that; his perfect, beautiful Wildflower. She deserved the bloody world, if he could find a way to give it to her. And even if that wasn’t an issue, there was always her older brother. He could not imagine that Fergus Cousland would be pleased to know his younger sister was sleeping with the son of the man who had killed his parents, wife, and child.

“Nathaniel?”

“Hm?” He looked down into the calm warmth of her eyes, and he felt some of the tension flee his body.

“I know what you’re thinking about,” she smiled wryly, “and you can just stop it right there.”

“Oh you do, do you?” Nathaniel tilted her chin up and brushed a kiss against the tip of her nose. “And what, exactly, am I to stop thinking of?”

“You’re worried,” she replied, her tone gentle. “Don’t. I know what you have done, and I know who you are, and I love you. I do not give a damn what anyone else says. I am the damned hero of Ferelden, and I have given enough to this world.” Cataline kissed him, softly, then whispered, “I finally have something that is mine. I will gladly fight anyone who tries to take you away from me.”

“You deserve better,” he murmured as he buried his face in her hair, holding her tight. “And you know your brother is going to kill me.”

This made her laugh, which in turn made him smile, his worry melting away at the sound. “No, he won’t. For one thing, Fergus really does want to see me happy. I won’t lie and say that you would have been his first choice, but you are my first and _only_ choice, so he will bite his tongue. Failing that, he knows I am a much better fighter than him. While he was off learning the soldier’s trade with father, mother was teaching me every rogue’s trick she knew. Fergus is fine in open combat, but he’s useless against his little sister.”

“I’ll hold you to that, you know,” Nathaniel chuckled, settling in against his pillows and wrapping an arm around Cat’s waist as she followed suit, her back nestled up against him and her fingers laced with his. “I love you, Cat.”

“I love you too, Nathaniel.” He could hear the smile in her tone. “Now go to sleep. I’m sure there are darkspawn out there just waiting for us to kill them in the morning.”

 

* * *

 

 

The first body of water they came to after slaying the monstrous horror that had been The Mother, Cataline had stripped down to her smalls and sank herself into the depths. She scrubbed at her skin until it was pink and raw, at which point she had simply floated on the surface for a bit until Nathaniel finally waded in after her, his arms gently encircling her waist and bringing her back to reality. Velanna and Sigrun had tactfully volunteered to set up camp at that point, realizing that they would go no further that day. He coaxed her back to the shore and wrapped her in a blanket before starting a kettle of tea. Nobody had said much since their trek through the Dragon Bone Wastes, each lost in their own thoughts. When Cataline finally broke her silence, she spat out three simple words.

“That. Was. _Disgusting_.”

Even Velanna laughed at that, and the little party seemed to relax a bit. They ate a simple supper, and then he volunteered to take the first watch. Cataline stayed up with him, just as she always did, and they lay back against the trunk of a great oak and looked out at the stars twinkling above the horizon. She laced her fingers with his, and every so often one of them would lean towards the other and brush a kiss against cheek or lips or forehead.

“So, my love, what now?”

He looked at her, but he couldn’t read her expression in the night’s shade. “What do you mean?”

She shrugged, leaning her head against his shoulder. “The threat is passed, for the moment at least. We could go anywhere we wanted. We will return to the Vigil for a few months anyways, but it was always my intention to pass that torch to someone else. I suppose it _was_ your home, though. I still have holdings in Highever, though I think technically I’m not supposed to since I’m a warden. Try telling that to Fergus, though. In any case, I didn’t think you would much care to go in that direction.”

Nathaniel was momentarily speechless. It wasn’t until that moment that he realized that he had half expected Cataline to leave him once their battle was over. He had been unconsciously trying to prepare himself, mentally and emotionally, for the day the hammer would fall. But now here she was, speaking as though she had every intention of staying by his side.

“So what do you think?” She asked again, “Before you came back to Ferelden, what were your plans?”

“Well,” he spoke slowly, “It sounds silly now, but I always wanted to be a traveling knight. Traveling the world, righting wrongs, fighting evil. Believe it or not, I loved the Free Marches. I was never exactly certain if it would be me or Thomas who would inherit the arling. Had you married Thomas, the title would have undoubtedly passed to him, and then to his… _your_ … children.”

“And if I marry you?”

“I’m not sure,” he admitted, “Thomas was always my father’s favorite, so- wait, what did you say?”

She laughed softly. “Just something to think about.”

Nathaniel sat back, stunned. He wondered if she knew… no, she couldn’t possibly.

“You would… I mean, would you? If I were to ask?”

“I suppose you would have to ask, wouldn’t you?”

He looked down and saw her tilt her head up to meet his gaze, the serene smile that calmed the harshest parts of his heart giving him courage. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the ring that Sigrun and Anders had helped him create, along with Master Wade’s expert skill. The dramatic blacksmith had been thrilled to create what he called “an imagination of a dream,” although Nathaniel still did not have the slightest idea what that meant. It was simple enough: a band of gold set with stones the color of her eyes and engraved with wildflowers, but Anders and Sigrun had set so many protective enchantments on it that it practically hummed with energy. He hadn’t exactly been sure when the moment would be right; he had simply hoped he would know it when it arrived. Nathaniel shifted so that he could face her, holding out the ring and all his hope.

“Cataline Cousland, will you marry me?”

She allowed him to slip the band over her ring finger, then threw her arms around his shoulders, knocking them both laughing to the ground. He heard Sigrun giggling in her tent, and even Velanna’s grumbling seemed to indicate approval.

“Yes,” Cataline exhaled, “I absolutely will marry you, Nathaniel. I love you.”

“I love you, Cat,” he smiled up at her, stroking her cheek. “So now that that’s settled… what do _you_ want to do now?”

“Oh, I don’t know, she lay beside him, her hand in his, and gazed up at the stars. “Travelling _does_ sound like fun, and I’ve never been to the Free Marches…”

  


End file.
